His Shoes
by Vintage Vine
Summary: A small acount about the following spring and summer. More about Boo, and of course, Scout and Dill. Important Newsflash: His Shoes will be under "Plot-Reconstruction" this summer. Any questions shall be answered through PM, not review.
1. Chapter 1

I own nothing, just this humble plot. Harper Lee, bless her, owns all. I wrote this in part because I read TKAM and _loved it, _and partly because I didn't think there was enough Dill and Scout, nor was there nough of Boo, who I really wanted to know more about. So, and thus this fanfic was born! Read on, and enjoy!

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The spring following Jem's elbow break, my encounter with Boo Radley, and Mr. Ewell's death, brought even more oddities. Dill came early—again. He seemed eager to hear about Boo's saving Jem and me, and I told him as wholeheartedly as I could. Second, Aunt Alexandra became much more kind and understanding of my 'tomboyish' appearance. Third, and the most amazing, Boo Radley became my friend.

When Dill came in April, I was happier than a puppy with butter-biscuits. He turned up on the front porch, me on Atticus' lap and Jem on the swing. This time, I didn't need to ask him why, I knew. Miss Rachel didn't mind keeping him, either, and I was happy knowing he'd be enrolled into third grade like me until summer.

So we played together, the three of us, until spring rolled around and fishing season began. The creek seemed more inviting than ever, but Jem said he wanted to fish with Dill alone, that he needed to talk to him about this 'engagement' thing Dill conjured. I didn't argue and spent the day playing with the new baton Atticus had gotten me for Christmas. I twirled around in the yard, catching wistful glances of the Radley place. And when I saw the shadowed silhouette, I stopped abruptly and waited for another movement.

Nothing. The shadow stayed in the window, unmoving, as if a statue. But I knew better. Slowly, silently, I opened the gate and walked down the sidewalk to the Radley yard. That was when I looked back to the window and the shadow was gone. At the curb, I sat hunched, with my back to the house, waiting.

It wasn't long until Atticus came strolling by with briefcase in hand. As he saw me, a small frown played on his lips and he looked at me inquiringly. I then left the curb and stalked back to the confinement of our fenced yard, ignoring the cold stare Aunt Alexandra presented me. But her resentment didn't last; she soon lead me into the living room and to her favorite knitting chair, where she fumbled in her bag for something. Slowly, she drew out a pair of patched overalls with slight traces of a floral pattern set on the pockets. Comprising. She was compromising with me, and I would obediently meet her halfway, despite pink flowers and yellow stitching.

I sat in my room for the rest of the day, reading, drawing, anything to quench the boredom I felt all the while Jem and Dill were away. Eventually they came back, at the first sign of night, and past my bedtime, too. I was sound asleep in my bed, dreaming of fish in the creek up yonder, when a soft poking in my side woke me.

"Scout." I recognized the voice, but couldn't place it for the life of me through all of the drowsiness I felt then. The voice came louder. "Scout!"

I shifted under the cover, crawled over, and waited for the empty space to fill with Dill's presence. "Why're you still out and about, Dill? Where's Jem?"

He shushed me and took hold my wrist underneath the blanket. "He's been asleep as long as you have."

I pondered that. "Then why're you here and not at Miss Rachel's?"

"Cause I haven't seen you that much today, Scout," he said as low as he could. Going on ten, his voice still hadn't lowered, and the suspense was _killing_ him.

"Should it matter, though? We all know you'll be here bright and early in the morning, waiting on me and Jem—"

"I guess it doesn't matter, Scout, but I still wanted to see you." His hand squeezed mine and he smiled shyly. "I think Aunt Rachel is taking me to a dentist tomorrow, might not see you until tomorrow night."

"Dill, if Atticus comes in and sees you, I really don't know what he'll do… Or Jem, for that matter."

He shrugged, sat up, and pulled me up, too. "Scout…?" he asked, hinting his sudden anxiety.

"Yeah, Dill?" I hung my head, expecting something drastic and weird.

He only blushed and scooted closer to me. "I was just wondering, are we still engaged?"

I laughed. "Sure, Dill, if you want to be."

He grinned. "Well," he whispered, reaching behind him and gripping his shorts' pocket. His hand came back into view, but with something nestled in his palm. "I have something, ah, girly for you…"

I gently pushed away from him, but he wound his arm around my waist and pulled me back again. "No, Scout, I know you don't like that sort of stuff, but I think this should seal the deal." I glanced at the foreign object in Dill's hand and felt a smile playing on my lips.

"Even though I'd already asked 'ya, Scout, I want to see the ring on your finger. I want to know that no Cecil Jacobs or some other poker out there won't think twice about leaving you to me."

Dill's speech shocked me; I gasped slightly and bit on my bottom lip. "Sure… Dill, I guess so…"

He gently slid a tiny, gumball machine ring onto the fourth finger of my left hand. I glanced at it, smiled, and cracked my knuckles. When I made for my right hand, his own hands stopped me, gingerly keeping them in place. "I have to go now, Scout. Good night," he whispered, and kissed me, before creeping down the hall.

"Night…" I whispered back, falling once again, asleep.

In the morning, I set out for Jem's tree-house, as he was out at football practice and wouldn't be home for a while. As soon as my feet hit the pavement of our walk, I saw the silhouette again in the window of the Radley place. This time, I knew my determination wouldn't waver at the sight of suspicious passerby. I knew what I wanted, and that was answers from Mr. Arthur (Boo) Radley.

I knelt at the tree with the cement in its crevice, waiting. Boo seemed to stare back from his shadowy perch in the window, oblivious to the world in which I sat, watching him back. Finally, after what seemed like hours (mere minutes), I stood and marched to the Radley door. My pounding on it seemed to shake the porch, vibrating beneath my shoes. Nathan Radley opened the door, unsurprised, and looked at me expressionless.

I swallowed, glanced around, anywhere but at the sullen man, and found my voice. "Good afternoon, Mr. Nathan Radley. I was wondering if Mr. Arthur were descent for company…" I let my voice trail, suddenly fearful of what I had done. How could I have been so stupid?

Mr. Nathan narrowed his eyes and opened the door wider, implying I walk through the threshold.

"Me?" I squeaked, pointing shyly to myself.

He nodded, smiled, and looked at something inside the house and to his left. I heard soft murmurings, inclined my head to see, failed, and rocked back and forth on my feet. After another moment, I was gently ushered inside without my consent; I hadn't decided to come inside or not. Boo had done it for me.

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Well, there was the first chapter. I hope it was enjoyed by all. :)


	2. Chapter 2

The inside of the Radley house did no justice to the horrible rumors of the town's nosy-goers. The floral painted walls held no blood stains; the floor didn't creak eerily as if filled with the bodies of Boo's parents; and the ashes in the fireplace obviously didn't smell of burnt flesh. I knew this was a regular house, with regular—yet quiet—people, and I was immensely honored to be the first trusting guest of Arthur and Nathan Radley.

Although I absolutely knew to my core that the Radley's wouldn't harm a hair on my head, I couldn't help the sudden jerk I gave when Nathan shut the door behind me. I was aware of the silent presence to my left, and I turned politely and smiled. "Hello, Mr. Arthur," I said, smoothing the pockets of my overalls roughly.

His lips quirked slightly, somehow a smile. I liked seeing that smile, and I grinned wider. Mr. Nathan cleared his throat and gestured politely to the couch and chairs in their Victorian-style living room. "Won't you have a seat, Miss Jean-Louise?" he asked softly.

"Yes, sir," I thanked him and walked over to the yellow couch, patting a seat next to me for Boo. He took his place beside me, looked to Nathan, and then to the hallway door. Mr. Nathan smiled and walked swiftly into their bright kitchen. I wondered how it was possible that the innards of their home could be so… grandeur and elegant when the outside seemed too eerie and spooky. I supposed it was due in part to our childish imaginations and lack of perception.

I turned to Boo. "Mr. Arthur, I came here to ask you somethin'," I stated, noticing the curiosity in his crystalline grey eyes. "Well," I relented, "a couple of things, really."

He nodded, hedging me to go on.

"Well…" I suddenly bit my tongue. Where had the courage I had felt at their door gone? Where was the brave Scout?

Boo held up his hand hesitantly for a moment, then patted my knee gently—once. Encouraging me.

I sighed. "Mr. Arthur—"

He shook his head frantically, making me pause.

"What's the matter, Mr. Arthur?"

"I'm... Boo," He whispered, almost too soft for my ears.

I pondered that. Yes, he was Boo, he would always remain 'Boo' to me. No matter how polite I was- formally.

"Alright, then. Mr. Boo," his laugh was humorously quiet, that I smiled as I continued. "Would you be my friend?"

I let my question hang in the silence that he had conjured, biting my nails the way Aunt Alexandra told me not to. Boo only looked at the wooden floor. Then, I could vaguely see his head bob up and down slightly.

"Alright, then. We're friends now, Boo. Do you like having a friend?"

He smiled at me shyly and smoothed down his tuft of soft blonde hair.

I hesitated. "Boo…" He caught my stare and waited for me to continue. "I just want you to know… Jem is very grateful you saved me—us. And I am, too! And I also want you to know that your neighborhood accepts you…" I couldn't believe how- how _girly_ I sounded! Here I was, sitting with the not-so- 'infamous'—now friendly and heroic—Arthur Boo Radley, being polite and respectful. I shivered, gracious Aunt Alexandra had compromised.

"Thank you," he whispered, catching my eyes.

"You're mighty welcome, Boo," I said. "Ah…Boo? …I'm sorry we treated you so poorly o'er the years…"

He shook his head slowly, looking back to the floor. But I continued, "We're more mature now, Boo. we know you now, well, in some ways. I didn't know what your shoes were like, Boo. Honest. And I'm sorry for misjudgin' you." I stopped, unsure of how to go on explaining my childish curiosities.

He nodded; understanding what I could not, even if they were my own words. "My friend," he said timidly, warily.

I smiled. "'Course I am, Boo. I'm your neighbor _and _your friend. Why, Boo, I know exactly what _you_ are! You're a hero!"

He looked at me sharply, somehow disliking the title. "Jem," was his only response. "Both needed me," he seemed to whisper to himself.

"Yes, Boo, we needed you," I took his hand, squeezed, and looked to the approaching figure in kitchen entrance.

"Miss Finch, we appreciate your visit," Mr. Nathan murmured, politely tipping his hat in our direction. "Arthur here gets mighty lonely…" he added, nodding to Boo with a casual smirk. Boo smiled bashfully and it grew wider when he turned to me. His pale face seemed to brighten.

Turning back to his older brother I said, "It was my pleasure, Mr. Nathan. I thank you kindly for allowing me to visit my friend here—"

Nathan Radley's brow rose at Boo's new status, then, when seeing the grin that seemed to be the light in Boo's eyes, he smiled at him and accepted. "Yes, Jean-Louise, Arthur enjoyed your visit sincerely. Won't you visit again soon?" he asked quietly, casually indicating that Arthur be seen regularly.

I nodded hurriedly, jumping at the open invitation. "Oh, yes, thank you, sir! I 'd like that very much," I replied, slowly getting to my feet, pulling Boo along with me—gently.

I bade Nathan Radley goodbye and walked out onto their dim porch. Across the street, I could vaguely see the outline of a small boy in our yard, reading. Dill.

Boo lead me to the porch steps, where I stopped and turned back to him, holding out my hand for a shake. "Thank you, Boo. I'll be back tomorrow, alright?"

He nodded, smiled softly, and looked to Atticus strolling up the walk yonder a little ways. I turned to go meet him, but Boo gently clutched my hand again.

"Boo?"

"Will you read to me?"

"'Course I will, Boo. What kind of books do you like? Lots of mine are just picture books, but I can borrow somethin' of Jem's, if you'd like."

His slim shoulders rose and fell in a shrug—he didn't have a preference.

"I guess you're right, Mr. Boo, 'beggars can't be choosers'. Is that what you're telling me?"

He smiled, nodded to Atticus, who'd come to stop at our fence, staring at our strange exchange from across the street. I looked between the two men, hugged Boo quickly, and ran for Atticus.

Plowing into him, I drew in his musty scent and looked back to the Radley place. Boo wasn't there. He'd hidden himself from the world again.

Atticus led me to the porch and past Dill, who followed behind, secretly holding my hand when Atticus wasn't looking.

Once in the living room, Dill and I sat cross-legged in the floor as Atticus slid into his favorite chair, placing his newspaper in his lap. "Jean-Louise, I see you've made a new friend," he stated in his soft, but firm voice.

"Yes, sir, Boo Radley—"

"His name is Arthur, sweetheart," he said patiently.

"But he wants me to call him that, sir. He told me himself," I protested.

Dill was silent all the while I told Atticus about my encounter with Boo. It was unlike him; usually he was bubbly with excitement, ecstatic with any new detail about Boo that'd I'd suddenly remembered when it came to That Night. Now, he was uncharacteristically quiet and indifferent. I ignored him and Aunt Alexandra, who'd slipped in without notice.

Atticus was grinning all the while I spoke. "He's friendly young man, is he not?"

"'Course he is, Atticus! I never met a friendlier neighbor in all my nine years!"

Dill coughed and cleared his throat, indicating his subtle jealousy. I made a mental note to beat him for it later.

"And what were his shoes like, Scout?"

I pondered that. "Why, sir, I think- now I may be wrong- but I do believe Arthur Radley is a man who is misjudged unfairly by us little 'un's. I think I shouldn't listen to rumors and believe 'em 'fore I go an' judge a man."

"'Judge not that ye may not be judged,'" he quoted softly.

"Well, I'm glad you've had your fun, Jean-Louise," Aunt Alexandra said tiredly, as she sat in her own velvet chair, knitting. "But it's high time you leave that poor man alone. Mr. Arthur doesn't need some nosy child prodding him with questions all day. You leave that man alone or you won't hear the end of it from me."

Atticus sighed. "Sister, Arthur Radley is a friend, our neighbor. It is our— and Scout's—neighborly duty to be sociable and pleasant to him," he muttered, it being his subtle protest to Aunty's restraining of me.

Before Aunt Alexandra could respond, Jem came barreling through the door, grinning wildly, and tugging water buckets on his shoulders. "Howdy do, Atticus. Dill, Scout, Aunty," he said nodding to each of us.

"Jem!" I yelped, leaping from my position beside Dill. I jumped into Jem, hugged him like I had Atticus earlier, and told him the whole of it. He seemed eager enough to hear it, even wondered aloud if Boo would come out now all proper-like. I realized he shared the same determination Dill had when he first came to Maycomb.

"Jem, he's real nice. Mr. Nathan wants me to visit again tomorrow, so I can come and read to Mr. Arthur. Jem, would you lend me a book or two?"

Atticus and Aunt Alexandra had long since left the room, leaving me with the quiet Dill and excited Jem.

"Sure, Scout, but only if you tell ole Boo I said hey, a'right?"

"'Course, Jem." Then, with annoyance slowly edging into my system, I turned to Dill. "Why the heck ain't you speaking, Dill Harris?" I demanded, placing my hand on my hips and narrowing my eyes.

He looked to Jem, requesting he explain.

"Ah, Scout? Dill here went to the dentist today. I think he told you…"

"Yeah, he did, last night—" Jem looked at me pointedly. I retreated. "Well, he told me. So what has that got to do with why he can't talk right?"

Jem sighed. "Well, he can, Scout. He just doesn't want to."

"And why is that?" I crossed my arms patiently.

"Maybe 'cause he's embarrassed? Shoot, Scout, I don't know!" He turned to Dill, gesturing to my brain in a half-wit manner.

"Jem, you're not making a lick of sense. How would he be embarrassed?"

"Dang it, Scout! He's got his braces, okay!" He looked at Dill apologetically. "Sorry," he mumbled, and Dill smirked.

I grew tired of the two boys and went to Jem's room for a book.

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And here it is, the second chapter. Hopefully, I can turn this into an actual story. Maybe. It's possible. So... stay tuned:)


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, I woke with something rustling under my bed. I didn't have to look to know it was Dill. Instead of paying him mind, I simply edged out of bed, gown and all, and walked stiffly into the living room. Dill followed, hastily trying to keep my pace.

"Atticus know you're here?" I asked, not looking at him.

He looked at his feet, his mouth out of view as he replied no, my father didn't know of Dill's presence in the house, didn't know he spent the night under my bed. I punched his arm, ran for Calpurnia in the kitchen, and asked what was for breakfast.

"Why, Miss Jean-Louise, you know it's your favorite, hmm?" She spooned out a tiny mouse-sized portion of scrambled eggs with ketchup. I graciously took the bite, thanked her, and avoided Dill's waiting figure by the door. I went back to my bedroom, closed the door on Dill, and began to undress for my day-clothes. But boy, did the child persist; Dill slouched in, anyway, ignoring my actions wholeheartedly and walking sullenly to my chestnut desk.

I was fuming. "Dill Harris! You better git 'fore I call Jem on you!"

He shrugged, looking at my sloppy spelling sheets with his back turned to me. "Jem ain't here, won't be back until after practice."

"I'm a girl, Dill, whether I like it or not, an' you can't just waltz in when I'm a dressin' and such!"

Still with his back turned, he shrugged again, mumbled something about me being his gal anyway, didn't matter, did it? Yet not once did he look at me while unclothed, so I let it go.

I pulled a frilly white blouse from my dresser—it was the only option for it was the only clean, fresh shirt I had right then—and pulled a second pair of overalls on. That was when Dill turned around, looked at me, and did not by any means allow me one glimpse of his teeth.

He held my hand as I walked back into the kitchen, nodded to Cal, and ate my breakfast obediently. Dill patiently waited for me, declining the offerings Cal insisted—all silently. He still held my hand when I went for Jem's books and back out the front door. Atticus was leisurely lounging in the swing, taking notice of our linked hands before grinning slightly, relishing our blushing faces.

"Good morning, Scout. Dill." He set aside his daily newspaper and smiled at us genuinely.

"Morning, Atticus," I mumbled, tugging my hand from Dill's quickly. He reluctantly let go.

"I see our friend Dill here has been around a while," Atticus said casually.

I hesitated. "Well, sir, you see, he and Jem camped out last night. Dill came in a little while ago and woke me up." I imagined the toothy grin Dill would've made right then, but knew his toothy grin was no more, replaced by something called 'braces'. The thought saddened me.

Atticus nodded, motioned for me and Dill to continue on. I jumped from the porch steps and made for the Radley house. Dill did not follow, he climbed the fence to Miss Rachel's and read his book.

Once on the porch, I rapped on the door softly, anticipating patience. There was no screen door, like all the other homes on our street, and I remember Atticus mentioning it once. I assumed it was for Boo's protection, the absence of a screen.

This time, it was not Nathan who answered, but Boo himself. "Good morning, Boo," I said, and weaseled my way underneath his arm and into the house. He shut the door, just as his brother had done yesterday, and followed me to the couch. "Where's Mr. Nathan, sir?"

He looked at his feet, then turned to me. "Out," he murmured.

"Oh, that's mighty fine, Boo. Well, let's see here…" I held out the two books I'd picked from Jem's tiny selection. He chose the book about a group of lost boys on an island. It was one of my favorites; Jem had often read it to me, claiming it as his favorite as well. Thinking of Jem reminded me of our deal.

"Jem says hello, Boo. I think he's your neighbor, too. Maybe not your friend, like me, but he's neighborly enough, right?"

He nodded, and looked at the book, indicating I get started. The story was about a gang of boys who'd been lost for quite some time, having stumbled upon a captive girl from an infamous pirate with a hook for a hand. There were also fairies, which I wasn't so sure about, but Boo seemed to like my reading to him, so I continued on nonetheless. It was going around noon, and we'd finished the book and began the next, as it was about a girl, a wolf, and some woods.

When I'd finished that one as well, I nudged Boo. "Did you like it, Boo?"

He nodded quickly, stood, walked stiffly to the fireplace mantel, and gently touched a picture of his deceased mother. I set the books aside, went to stand with him, and laced my arm through his.

"I'll bet she was a nice lady," I whispered.

"Yes," he whispered back.

I suddenly felt the burning desire to ask him something I was sure he might choose to avoid. "Boo… how come you don't like talking? Don't you want attention?"

"Mother loved me," he murmured, still staring at the photo on the wall.

My hands became sticky and my stomach churned in a grieving manner. I hardly knew the woman yet here I was, anguishing her death as if she were kin. Before I could stop myself, a single tear caught Boo's attention, and he gently wiped it away from my cheek. "Thanks, Boo," I said behind my hands.

He didn't respond, his gaze still lingering on the pictures. I sighed. "Boo, friends talk, alright? What's the worst that could happen if'n you spoke just a few more words? Huh? What are you 'fraid of? Losing your breath? Forgettin' what you's gonna say? C'mon, Boo, you can talk to me," I said reassuringly. "Anything you wanna say, just say it, okay?"

He looked at me from the corner of his eye and the edge of his mouth pulled up a little. It was a soft smile. "I've known you," he whispered.

I pondered that. Of course he knew me. With Maycomb being such a small county and all, everyone knew everything about you, rumor or fact. For instance, _everyone_ knew about Boo's history, and I was one of the few (including myself, Jem, Atticus, Miss Maudie, Aunt Alexandra, and of course Mr. Nathan) who knew that Stephanie Crawford's version was theoretically out of proportion. Arthur was young, energetic, and yes, maybe a little rowdy. But as Atticus claimed, growing boys usually fit that description, and he had half a mind that Jem would grow exactly like that. Stephanie Crawford claimed to have all the dirt on Mr. Arthur Radley, but I knew much better.

I didn't voice any of this, though. I simply untangled my arm from his, took his hand, and squeezed. "'Course you do, Boo, and I've known you for a long time, too." I suddenly remembered our plays and childish bouts when I was six, Dill seven, and Jem ten. I wondered if Boo knew we mocked him in the harmless innocence?

He shook his head slowly. "Not scary," he murmured.

I shook my head, too. "No, Boo, you're _friendly._" The large grandfather clock tolled, its bells sounding as if someone had tampered with them to soften their annoying racket. Atticus would be walking up the pavement anytime now, so I quickly hugged Boo and made for the door. I didn't get there; Boo had made a sound, a cry. I turned around, forgetting the porcelain knob completely. "Yes, Boo?"

"Are you coming back?" he asked, his arms looking empty and hanging at his sides. I smiled, and slowly walked back to him, filling his arms with a not-so-quick hug this time. He hesitated, as he always did when I embraced him without notice, but wound his arms gently around my small shoulders, hugging me too.

A knock on the door pulled me away. Boo shrank back a little, then noticed my heading toward it, and quickly beat me to it, turning the knob slowly before answering to Atticus.

"Good evening, Arthur," he said cheerfully.

Boo nodded to him politely, gently nudged me over the threshold, and shut the door. I went home with Atticus, waited for Jem's practice to finish, and ignored Dill as much as possible.

Once in my room, I recalled all that had happened today, but soon found myself pondering Boo's odd behavior when Atticus had knocked. When he had looked at me, then to the door, his expression had held something I'd sometimes seen on Jem's face, when he would defend me on the playground back in elementary (I sure didn't need it, but her was there anyway), and often on Atticus' face when Aunt Alexandra chastised me. I knew that look; Boo was a protective soul. Maybe that was why he gently eased me aside and answered it himself, not considering the fact that he may have actually been seen by the sun.

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I think I see a plot, but its rather vague right now, so hang in there. Thanks for reading! :)


	4. Chapter 4

Dill insisted on staying for dinner, and Cal confided in Atticus. Of course, Atticus allowed his stay. And I reluctantly gave him the time. Jem ordered Dill and me to stop following him around, but it was I who treaded his heels and Dill who treaded mine. I read outside until dinner, where Dill read, too, holding my hand with one hand while the other turned pages. Finally, I spoke. But out of curiosity only.

"Dill, what's gotten into you? Are you sick or something?"

He looked at me, covered his mouth with one hand, and spoke. "Naw, I just don't know what to say." His answer came out muffled.

"Well, like I tried to tell Boo today, friends talk to each other. You ain't doin' a lot of talkin', Dill." I pulled my knees up onto the swing, crossed my legs, and closed my book.

He shrugged.

I sneered. "You embarrassed, Dill? Of your braces?"

"I ain't got no braces!" he yelped, his hand momentarily sliding from his mouth, allowing me a glimpse of something metallic and silver. He quickly recovered his instinctual mistake and glowered at me.

"… Dill," I whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Are those braces?"

He shook his head furiously, the glare never leaving his eyes.

"Fine," I spat, and pounced on him. He had been on the floor, and I in the swing, so it made my attack much easier. Dill resisted, but he did not fight back. I swung, he blocked, I kicked, he yielded. I screamed, and he—gently—pressed his hand to my mouth. Finally, Jem came and dragged me off of him.

"Stop it, Scout! I mean it, I'll get Aunt Alexandra on your hide in a second if'n you keep punchin' poor Dill like that!" He jerked me loose and pushed me. Hard. I fell on my back and scrambled to get up, so I didn't look weak. But boy, if didn't make me look weaker when Dill crouched next to me and pulled me to my feet. I lurched passed the two boys and made for the sidewalk.

Miss Maudie was outside watering her flowers when I opened her white gate door. She looked up, startled, and a smile spread across her wrinkled cheeks. "Evening, Jean-Louise. How've you been? Where's your brother?"

I shrugged. "I ain't speakin' to Jem right now. And I've been mighty fine, thank you, Miss Maudie. And you?"

She picked one of her three sunflowers, the smallest, and handed it to me. "Here. It could brighten someone's day, hmm?"

I took it graciously, thanked her, and said, "Well, they don't call 'em sunflowers for nothin', do they?"

She laughed and gestured to her door. "Come, child. Would you like some fresh peanut butter cookies?"

Being nine, and it being impossible to refuse sugar in the form of baked dough, I followed her into her house. She had already baked three dozen cookies, and together we'd eaten nearly ten of them. I felt full, stuffed so much my belly was hard as stone in my overalls. Miss Maudie sat in her wicker chair and gravely took another bite of her unfinished cookie.

"Jean-Louise, I do believe I'm fit to burst like a stuffed turkey on Thanksgiving."

"Yes, ma'am." I pushed away my glass of milk and made a swipe for a napkin to wipe the milk mustache from my lip.

"Scout!" I looked up sharply, but it was not Miss Maudie speaking. It was Jem.

"Jean-Louise, I think your brother is looking for you. Shall I get the door?"

I nodded, reluctant he and Dill had found me. Seconds after Miss Maudie left for the door, she brought back with her Jem and Dill. Jem sat in the third chair between Miss Maudie and I, and Dill stood beside me, his hand on my shoulder.

"Scout, Cal said dinner was near ready…" He looked at me, expecting a reply. I shrugged, handed my unfinished cookie to Dill, and watched as he gently set it back down, shaking his head slowly.

"Scout, we were asked to bring you home…"

I looked at Miss Maudie. "You hear somethin'?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Go, child. Seems they're attempting to apologize. I think it best you give them the chance." She grabbed a handful of cookies and placed them in a sheet of tinfoil. "Here, take these for your company, I'm sure they'll be famished on the walk home." She handed me both the tinfoil and sunflower.

I smiled at her, reached for the treats, and left with Jem and Dill.

Once outside, I hurried my pace. They were quick to follow. Dill held my arm with his, linked by the crook of our elbows. Jem walked on my other side, holding my hand and saying things like he's sorry and he shouldn't push girls.

"Scout, I'm right sorry I pushed you. D'you think you'll forgive me?"

I didn't look at him, but nodded. Though I knew there was more to say. "Sorry, Dill. Thank you for not fightin' back."

"Yeah," he mumbled, staring at our moving feet.

"Dill, you're a startin' to be a gentleman like me an' Atticus," Jem said.

Dill fumbled to cover his mouth with his hand and spoke. "I'm Scout's gentleman."

Jem and I clutched out stomachs and laughed as hard as we could. Dill just sat back and watched us, grimacing. We finally regained out posture, began to walk back home again, and Dill didn't hold my hand or my arm again that night.

I gave them some of the cookies, and made them swear not to let Cal know of our early snacking.

We reached the fence. Calpurnia was standing on the porch, sweeping. When she saw us, she grinned and ushered us inside. "C'mon, 'lil' ducks, dinner's ready an' waitin' for ya."

"Alright, Cal, we're goin'," Jem grumbled.

We sat down at the table, and Atticus and Aunt Alexandra came in. "Children. Cal." He nodded to each of us, then settled in his chair for Cal's meal.

Cal sputtered around the table, making sure all of the dished weren't too hot, especially Aunt Alexandra's. When satisfied, she retired to the kitchen, but not before murmuring something to Atticus. "Don't you worry, Mr. Finch, he's not the kind," she whispered, ducking her head so we—the children—wouldn't hear. Aunt Alexandra sipped her tea, pretending not to notice how close Cal was to Atticus.

"I know, Cal, it'll be alright. Judge Taylor realizes the situation at hand. It's one word against another, isn't it?"

She nodded and walked away.

Dinner was quiet, Jem held none of the earlier excitement of football he always seemed to emanate after practice. Dill was quiet for obvious reasons. And I didn't speak because I was calculating. Atticus was working another case, and it seemed to stress him almost like the trial of Tom Robinson.

I went to bed early, more than eager to visit Boo tomorrow. Atticus came to tuck me in, and I asked him about it.

"It's nothing, Scout. Don't fret over it, he'll be alright," he mumbled as he kissed my forehead and turned the lamp out.

I asked who 'he' was, and he narrowed his eyes.

"He'll be alright," he repeated, ducking below my bed to check my bed for rats, or Dill. "Night, sweetheart."

"G'night, Atticus."

* * *

And another chapter! I'm actually beginning to hope this is a stroy... Thanks for reading! :) Oh! and forgive me if descriptions aren't correct; I've never seen the movie.


	5. Chapter 5

At the Radley's the next day, Sunday, I handed Boo the sunflower and the last of the cookies. "Miss Maudie gave these to me, Boo. Friends do that, so I'm giving 'em to you, alright?"

He nodded and hesitantly took the sunflower. "It's pretty," he murmured in that soft voice of his.

"It _was_ pretty, Boo, but it's wilting now. It won't be pretty much longer," I said, touching a petal gently.

"No, it is, just look."

I did, but all I saw was the brown yellowing of the petals and sticky stem. "Boo, it's dying. I don't see it. It really _was_ pretty, but it ain't now. That's what happens when you pluck a flower. It dies, unless you want to keep it a little longer. Then you can put it in some water and it'll live a while longer."

He turned around and walked into the kitchen. I followed. Nathan Radley was leaning on the countertop, looking inquiringly at Boo and me. "Can I help you, Arthur?"

"May I have a glass of water?" Boo asked him quietly.

Mr. Nathan nodded, turned to the sink, and filled a tall glass with the clear substance. "Here you are, sir. Be mindful not to spill it," he advised, hinting at me with a slight smirk.

Boo took the glass and walked back into the living room. He set the flower in the water and looked to me. "Pretty?"

I smiled. "It is."

Boo nudged me gently and nodded to the stairs. Mr. Nathan smiled at us as Boo lead me up the stairwell and into a hall of four rooms. I followed him through the hall, peering into each of the ajar rooms. There was a yellow room, the master, a blue room, a parlor-like dwelling the color of pink, and a green room, which Boo turned into.

"Is this your room, Boo?"

He nodded and went to the window. I stood beside him and took in the view. It was an elevated scene exactly like what I'd imagined before, the night when Jem and I were attacked. I again thought about Boo's shoes, watching us kids play and mock him, Atticus scold us, Jem and I build snowmen. I thought about it real hard until Boo touched my cheek. His finger came back glistening. I gaped and furiously rubbed my cheeks with the backs of my palms.

"I ain't cryin', I ain't cryin'," I mumbled, refusing to look at him.

"You are. It's alright to..." He stuttered and paused. He didn't know what to call me. I giggled and took his hand.

"You can call me Scout, Boo. Or if you want, I don't mind Jean-Louise. That's what most grown-folks call me, even Atticus does sometimes. So you just take your pick, Boo."

"Friend," he said, squeezing my hand.

I grinned widely. "That, too, Boo."

Boo returned the smile sheepishly and released my hand, turning to the small closet just in the corner, left of the door. He went to it, rummaged in a box nestled on the wooden floor, and pulled out a newspaper; _The Maycomb Tribune_. I noticed there were holes in various shapes and sizes cut on random pages.

"Boo?"

He held it out for me, and I couldn't refuse the odd offering. I leafed through the rolled pages and came to stop in the Obituaries. In the colored section, there was Tom Robinson's crude photo, taken while he was on trial. I looked up curiously at Boo, uncertain of what he was getting at.

"It's help," he whispered.

"Help for what?" I asked, dog-earing Tom's page.

"Mr. Finch. Me." His shoulders rose and fell in a tight shrug.

"Why do you need help, Boo? Is somethin' wrong?"

He shook his head.

"Boo, you can tell me, I know how to keep a secret. Honest," I squeezed his hand reassuringly, wondering if he could tell me, would he?

He sighed, and placed his palm on his cheek. "There's a trial… Scout," he said.

I chuckled at how strange my name sounded on his lips. But I reverted my attention to his words. "What trial, Boo?"

"I—they—they think—" He broke off, sudden tears springing in his eyes.

I realized it was rude to hound him in this manner, and I quickly fluttered in my pocket and handed him Atticus' handkerchief. He hesitated before taking it, and wiped his eyes with it. "Thank you… Jean-Louise…"

I smiled. "You're mighty welcome, Boo."

He murmured something else, but I had to strain to hear it. "What was that, Boo?"

"Come back, please, Scout," he said a tad louder.

"Well, of course I will! But if you want me to come tomorrow, you'll have to wait until two-thirty, okay? I have school during the weeks, and Atticus would have my hide if I didn't go. Maybe if I just left these books here for you…" I started to lay the fiction books aside on a table, but Boo was shaking his head sadly.

"You don't want 'em? I thought you liked 'em, Boo?"

"… I forgot how…"

I patted his hand. "It's alright, Boo, if you'd like, I can help refresh your memory. Would you like that?"

"You already have," he whispered. I understood. By reading to him, I've somehow helped him in that way, I supposed.

"Boo, I'll come back tomorrow, okay? Just wait until two-thirty. I'll be here." I left him in his room, with that promise. With a firm hug.

It wasn't time for Atticus yet, but I thought it best to leave anyway. I still had the newspaper in hand, and I set it in Atticus' chair before heading back outside to find something to do. I sat in the yard, fiddling with grass, when I saw something move in Boo's upstairs window. His shadow waving slowly. I grinned to myself and waved back leisurely. His shadow then disappeared. I turned back to the blade of grass I'd plucked and whistled with it.

"Whatcha doin', Scout?"

I looked over my shoulder to find Dill lounging with his elbows on the fence, watching me. "Who wants to know?"

He bit back a grin and hopped the fence, strolling over and sitting beside me. "I guess that would be me," he said, covering his mouth again.

I sighed. "I don't see what's so big an' bad about braces, Dill. Sooner er later you're gonna let me see," I stated, thinking it was obvious fact.

He shrugged. "Don't care. You ain't seeing my teeth, m'kay?"

I moved fast. Too fast. He didn't see it coming. I was on top of him, graciously thankful for wearing overalls, and straddling his arms with my knees. With my two index fingers, I pried open Dill's lips and gazed upon the dreadful braces. I couldn't see the embarrassing part. It looked unique, in fact, something I'd look for in a history museum. They were clear squares on the front teeth with metallic bands keeping them in place. I slumped off of him, and he grimaced.

"Happy?"

"No, confused." I became interested in my feet, not wanting to look at him.

"Why? Not what you expected? I know they look horrible, I do. And I also know you'd do the same thing in my case. You wouldn't me to see somethin' so scary on your teeth, would you?"

I shrugged. "I guess not…"

"Right. Now, can I hold your hand without you swinging at me?"

I grinned. "You wanna ask again?"

He sighed. "No, I don't need to." He grabbed my hand, and I didn't kick or swing. I let him.

"Do you wanna go to Olly's Lot? I have a few quarters…"

I shook my head. "Thank you, Dill, but I'd rather just stay here with ya."

He nodded and slipped something waxy into my hand. "Here. I whittled it for ya."

I studied it, wondering what it could possibly be. But then I saw the trunk, and the big projecting ear. He'd gone and whittled an elephant out of… candle wax? Curious, I looked at the tail. No, it wasn't the wick. But the wick was smudged neatly into a crevice on the creatures back.

"Why thank you, Dill. It's real swell."

He mumbled something about being glad I even knew what it was and took him 'bout three hours to make it.

"Thank you, Dill, really." I smiled and wound my arms around him.

Atticus' hat bobbed up and down as his looming figure turned for the gate.

I jerked away from Dill, toyed with the elephant, and waited for Atticus to greet us.

"Hey, Atticus."

"Afternoon, Scout," he replied. He looked grave, depressed. I said goodbye to Dill and hurried to follow Atticus inside.

"I have somethin' for you, sir," I said, holding out Boo's newspaper.

He stared at it curiously, his eyes wavering over the date.

"He… gave this to you… as a-a... message?"

"I guess so, Atticus. But what's this trial he mentioned—"

"He mentioned it?" Atticus asked sharply.

"He did, sir, and I want to know if its related to what Cal said last night. 'Member when I asked you 'bout it?"

He nodded solemnly. "Yes, but it's nothing to worry about, Scout. He'll be alright, I promise."

I asked again who he was, but Atticus dismissed it. "Your aunt told me something very interesting, Jean-Louise. She said she was dusting the windows yesterday and found you straddling Dill, swinging and fighting the way you do."

I gulped, and looked down, ashamed.

"No worries, though. Any little girl who keeps the boys away is all right by me. Saves me the trouble," he chuckled.

I mumbled a thank you and went along with my business.


	6. Chapter 6

A week passed, and Easter Sunday was as busy as it always was. I was sitting on the counter, watching Calpurnia hurriedly make the Easter dinner, and told her all about Boo. I'd spent the whole of my evenings after school at the Radley house, reading to Boo, and he seemed pleased every day when I came knocking on his door.

"So Miss Finch has a new friend, huh?" she asked, bending over and placing the large ham into the oven.

"Yes, ma'am, I do," I confirmed. "He's a real nice friend, too. We talk—well, I do a lot of the talkin'—but he listens all the same. He likes it when I tell stories about Jem and me, and he acts like Atticus when I mention mine and Dill's engagement."

Cal looked up at me sharply. "What engagement, Miss Thang?"

I held out my left hand awkwardly, and showed her the plastic ring Dill had given to me. She grinned at the sight of it, and chuckled.

"Well, you just make sure I'm in that weddin', alright?" she turned around and stirred the gravy.

"'Course, Cal. Weddin' ain't no wedding without the momma," I said, playing in the tub of butter. Cal seemed to have frozen, but she gently tapped my hand and I took it from the butter bin.

"Child, I ain't your momma," she murmured, winding her thin arms around my shoulders.

"You act like it, Cal. I don't see why not," I argued.

She shook her head. "Child, your momma's been sleepin' in a grave for a long time. And I may not be your momma, Jean-Louise, but I sure do love you like my own."

I nodded and mumbled the given reply. Cal asked me what Mr. Arthur likes to read. I told her fictional stories, along with the daily paper. I asked her what was happening to Atticus, what the new trial was about.

She didn't answer for a while, only stalled by busying her hands with the contents on the stove burners. Finally, she said, "Don't know a thing 'bout no trial, Miss Scout."

I sighed. "I think you do, Cal. I heard you talkin' to Atticus 'bout it the other night."

She shrugged. "Nope. Can't seem to recall such a happening."

"I tried askin' Atticus 'bout it, but all he said was 'he was gonna be alright'. Cal, I wanna know who 'he' is." She bit her lip, and the action added to my growing suspicion.

"I can't tell you that, Scout. C'mon, I need your help with the potatoes." We didn't speak of it again. Not until Jem walked in a while later. He regarded me and went for Cal, whispering so loud it wasn't whispering at all.

"Does she know, Cal?"

I pretended to pick my nails, biding my time to get Jem alone.

In my peripheral vision, I could see Cal shake her head slowly. Jem nodded and walked out. "Bye, Cal," I said, sliding from the counter and onto the floor. I ran out of the kitchen and followed Jem into his room.

He turned around, faced me, and sneered. "Where's your tagalong today, Scout?"

I shrugged. "Don't know, don't care," I stated blandly. Dill might've mentioned Miss Rachel's coming over here for dinner, but I wasn't too sure.

He chuckled. "Right. Well, what do you want? I have to work on my volcano project." He began to turn into his room, and I quickly pushed him. I attacked just as I had attacked Dill last week. Although the difference was Dill's surrender to Jem's resistance. He did as much damage as I, probable bruises and one black eye. What're you doin', Scout?" He yelled, pulling my hair.

"Tell me!" I screamed back. "Stop keepin' secrets!" I scrambled from him, leaping back to give use space.

He glared at me and wiped a dribble of blood from his bottom lip. Looking at the blood, he grinned. "Scout, when you get to high school, you better wrestle."

"Tell me," I persisted.

He sighed. "If it's Atticus' newest case you're worried 'bout, then you're wastin' your time. He'll be alright."

"Who in all God's creation is 'he'?" I demanded, trembling, itching to lunge again.

"It'll upset you, Scout. Just wait," he said, picking at his cuticles.

I left him, unsatisfied with his avoidance to my questions. The black-eye we'd both reaieved throbbed and I cursed under my breath.

I told Cal I was heading to Mr. Arthur's and made for the creek. Once there, I unfastened my breeches, and unbuttoned my blouse to replace it with the tank I had underneath. I swam for what seemed like hours, but knew it was just minutes. I was swimming on my back, arms outstretched, when I felt a shift in the ripples. I jerked from my fatigue into an upright position, scanning the premises for potential harm, only to find Dill wading in after me.

"Mornin', Scout!" he said, flashing a grin that displayed his shiny, metallic braces.

"Hi, Dill…" I replied, uneasy about my lack of trousers. But Dill stayed at a distance, a respectful, safe distance.

"How'd you get that shiner, Scout?" he asked affectionately, motioning to my bruised eye.

I shrugged and went for my breeches in the sand. He followed, but stayed just shy of the deep area. I pulled my khaki shorts into place, looked to my left, and found a lot of Dill's clothes in a pile.

I looked back to him and smirked. "Watcha waitin' for, Dill? You want me to turn my head? Want me to leave?"

He shook his head frantically and made for the shore, but I was faster. I went for his heap of clothes and picked them up. "C'mon, Scout! Put 'em down!" He was out of the water now, hiding behind a bush. I shuffled through the pile and found his underwear. On the elastic band, someone had sewn his name in navy blue thread.

I threw them to his outstretched hands. He yelped, caught them, and hurriedly put them on. "Give me my breeches, Scout!"

I shook my head. "Don't think so, Dill."

He groaned. "Please, Scout? I'll be good, I promise. I'll contain myself. See? No hand-holdin'." He placed his hands firmly behind his back and waited.

I considered his words and made for the bush he hid behind. "Here," I grumbled, throwing the pants and suspenders in his face.

He'd pulled them on quicker than lightning and jumped over the bush. His hand found mine and I didn't have the heart to pull away.

"C'mon, Scout. I bet Cal and Atticus have hidden those eggs by now," he said, pulling me through the growth of trees and into the neighborhood street. The eggs had been colored the night before, stored in the refrigerator, and brought back out for the Egg Hunt today. I hoped I'd have enough time to participate with my family and still go see Boo.

* * *

Jem, Dill, and I each ran around the front and back yard, searching underneath every blade of grass for the faintest hint of our personalized eggs. Cal had specific orders from Aunt Alexandra to by three dozen eggs so we each had twelve to paint and find. I had found twenty-one of the thirty-six, Dill- ten, and Jem- five.

They both called me cheater, yet Dill had been with me at the time of hiding them, so I didn't think much of it. In fact, I was glad I'd collected so many; it meant I could hide that many more for Boo.

Atticus and Aunt Alexandra were both lounging on the porch while we hunted. When the hunt was finished, I ran to Atticus, who sat on the swing, and crawled into his lap. He heaved a sigh and adjusted my weight to the other knee. "Goodness, Scout, you're getting a little old for my lap, hmm?"

I shook my head and pointed to the Radley place. "Can I go see Boo now?"

Atticus studied me suspisciously. "Will you be reading to him today?"

"I'll not be readin' him a word. He'll be lookin' for these here eggs," I lifted my makeshift basket and grinned.

Atticus nodded, debating the situation. "Did you ever think the Radley's may celebrate Easter a different way than most folks?"

I went silent. Dill and Jem strolled up onto the porch and went on and on about cheaters and rules and no peeking during a hide-and-seek game such as this. I didn't hear the end of it; I went for the Radley place, intent on sharing the Easter with Boo.

* * *

Ah, another chapter. I wonder when something might _actually_ happen.. Well, thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

As usual, I knocked, and, being the only real visitor the Radley's received, Boo answered himself, knowing it couldn't possibly be anyone but me. And, as usual, I spoke first. "Evenin', Boo. Hidy-do."

He smiled slightly and ushered me in, closing the door as softly as he could. I walked over to the couch where we always sat when reading, and pulled out Jem's worn bandana. "I know it's Easter and all, Boo, and I sure didn't know if you celebrated it like us, but I came over anyway. I thought you might like to play a game with me."

He folded his hands in his lap patiently and peeped inside my basket. I jerked it away before he could see the contents, but quickly relented when the look of guilt replaced his peaceful features.

"You ever been egg huntin', Boo?"

Thankfully, he nodded, and said, "I was five."

I gasped. "You ever gone after that?"

He shook his head slowly. "Miss Atkinson hid them for me…once," he murmured. He'd gotten quite used to speaking a little more than just 'yes' or 'no', and I'd patted myself on the back for our accomplishment.

"Miss Maudie, you mean? You don't have to call her by her last name, Boo, she's friendly, too."

He nodded and eyes the bandana suspiciously. I lifted it up. "Oh, this? I won't hurt you, Boo. Just gonna tie it a little 'round your eyes. Is that okay?"

He hesitated, but soon nodded, thinking it would please me, no doubt. Once tied securely around his eyes, I hid the eggs hurriedly. I didn't go upstairs, not until I was down to one egg. "Uh, Boo?"

"Yes?" he whispered.

"May I go upstairs?"

"You're always welcome here," was his answer.

I ascended the steps, considering his words. Perhaps that was why he nor Mr. Nathan never turned me down. I like that. I liked it a lot.

I finished hiding the last egg and went back for Boo, who sat patiently on the yellow sofa just as I had left him. "Alright, Boo. You can look now."

He neatly folded the bandana after untying it and gently placed it back in the basket, which he carried with him to place the eggs. He looked at me, questioning where to begin.

I crossed my arms. "Anywhere."

He immediately started for the fireplace mantel. "Not there, though!" I said frantically, and ran to stand between him and the pictures.

His grin was lopsided, silly, and warm. He reached above my head and plucked the green egg from its hidden spot. I gave an angry humph, and strolled over to Boo's handmade birdhouse. I peeped into the window and smiled at the pet inside, sang a soft tune while Boo walked about, searching, hoping the mockingbird would pick up on it quick. It did, with magnified melody I couldn't succeed.

Finally, Boo came back to me; basket filled with twenty of the eggs hidden downstairs.

"Ah, Boo? There should be one more…"

He looked at me curiously, but proceeded to the stairwell. I followed him, knowing without a doubt he would never find the special egg. But my luck was thinning; he found it rather quickly.

In the room that Boo avoided every time I came over, I had hidden the prize there, in the small confines of the plastic windows glued into the miniature houses. The table took up about half of the room, and it was a picture-perfect remake of our town, Maycomb.

Boo went straight for his room, the green, sunny domain, and looked through every nook and cranny. "What is the color?" he suddenly asked.

"I think it was green, Boo, with blue dots. Don't ask how I'd gotten it that way, it was something Jem had done. He splattered his paints with mine and mine with his, so we had a mess of an egg."

He nodded, went back to looking under his bed, and headed for the hallway. "You want a hint, Boo?" I asked, taking his free hand to guide him to the forbidden room. Outside of the door, he stopped and stared at me.

"It's in there?" he asked, somehow anxiety was etched into his timid voice.

I nodded, uncomprehending. "Somethin' wrong, Boo?"

He nodded, and I saw his cheek glisten a little.

"Ah, Boo! I'm sorry, I didn't know! Please don't be angry with me!" I squeezed his hand and he did the same. That's when I knew it wasn't my fault for his distress. "I-is there somethin' in there that I shouldn't see, Boo?" I hedged.

He nodded, and released my hand to wipe the sliding tear away. He mumbled something that sounded like 'Christmas present'.

"Boo?"

He took my hand again and drew me into the room. He gestured to the miniature town and smiled halfheartedly. "This is you Christmas present… Jean-Louise," he whispered.

I looked more closely to the tiny portioned objects on the table. I looked at Miss Maudie's house, with the exact replicas of two-centimeter sized flower bushes. I observed a figure walking past her gate, a brief case in hand. "Atticus!" I said, joyed by his miniscule size. Then I looked to our house, and there were two children in the yard, one was reading in the grass, and the other was tossing an oval ball. In the yard next door sat a little child who was short for his age, reading.

"Boo…" I whimpered, feeling cheerful and sad. This tiny town was what he saw from his eyes, being in his shoes. I noticed how his house wasn't present, though his tree was, but it only showed a slight indentation that there had ever been a hole.

"You're welcome," he said for the second time that day, and I understood that it came with the same meaning as before.

I took the egg from its spot and handed it to him. He stared at it, the lack of color I had so enthusiastically described moments ago. Its dull shade had him confused beyond reasoning.

"It's alright, Boo. The egg is still pretty, right?"

He looked at me. "Hmm?"

I gestured to his filled basket. "_They_ all have pretty colors, don't they?"

He nodded.

"And would they all taste the same?"

He smiled slightly.

"Okay then, we know that much. Now, I wanted to show you that it doesn't matter what the color is; it's the egg's purpose. It still gave the same enjoyment by being found, right?"

He nodded again, this time more slowly, confused.

"So I'm telling you that it doesn't matter the color, or the prettiness, just the purpose, okay, Boo?"

"You're intelligent," was his reply.

I shrugged his compliment away, not too keen on receiving them. "Thanks, Boo, but I'm only nine, going on ten. There ain't much room for… intelligent… in my brain."

He shook his head and gently steered me from the room. I followed him down the steps and into the kitchen where he hesitantly fumbled in the fridge and brought out…

A pickle. He wrapped it in a napkin from nearby and handed it to me. I nodded my thanks and set to work munching the crunchy treat. He ate his own quietly, and a little dribble of pickle juice ran down his chin. "Oh, here, Boo," I said, taking another napkin and wiping the juice from his face. He stared at me, surprised.

"What?" I asked, biting into the pickle again.

"Happy Easter," he whispered.

"Happy Easter, Boo," I replied, throwing my drenched napkin away and washing my hands. He did the same once he was finished.

* * *

It's beginning to be much more conveniant if I just uploaded a few chapters at a time. It will just a few days before more chapter are up. So, that being said, please stay tuned for more!


	8. Chapter 8

This chapter is a little longer than most others... so you're warned. Enjoy!

* * *

Boo was tired, and I took his subtle, polite hints. He tapped the end of my nose as I walked out the door, but he shut it before I could hug him. I went home for our late Easter dinner.

Jem and Dill were still in the yard, but Atticus and Aunt Alexandra weren't in sight. I trudged through the fence and asked the two boys what their game was.

"Nothin' a girl wants to play," Jem muttered, taking a shovel and handing it to Dill.

I watched them make various sized holes in the ten foot perimeter from the porch. "That doesn't answer my question," I said.

Jem heaved and shoveled more dirt. "We tell you and you'll tell Atticus… or Aunty," he added with a shiver.

Dill stared at me all the while. "You wanna play, Scout?"

Jem glared at Dill for his offer. "Don't you be all gentleman-like today, Dill." Then he looked back to me. "We ain't playin' a game. We're diggin' to China."

His statement sounded so serious, so genuine, I couldn't help but laugh at the hidden stupidity.

"You got somethin' to say, Miss Priss?"

I shook my head and went inside. I didn't need those boys. Let them dig to China. They'd be spat back out eventually.

Calpurnia was setting the table with Atticus and Aunt Alexandra already seated. I looked at the massive oval dishes and the giant ham in the middle.

"Dinner ready?" I asked Cal.

"Yeah, go get your brother."

* * *

That night, after Dill went home, and Cal's lecture about coming home at a decent hour, Jem and I went to his room to await Atticus to escort me to bed. I apologized—reluctantly—for his black eye, and he for mine.

Then I remembered why I gave it to him. "It's best if'n you tell me now, Jem Finch."

He shrugged. "Says you," he said, placing his football magazine on the bedside table.

"I already know there's a trial. And I know Atticus is bein' stressed. I wanna know who he's representing, Jem."

He didn't answer me. Not that night, not ever. I found out by none other than the talkative Miss Stephanie Crawford herself.

The next Monday, Dill was walking me to school, whereas Jem had already walked ahead. We passed Miss Maudie's house, and her yellow tulips were slowly sprouting. I paused and told Dill not to wait.

Now that I think about it, I figure he had already known what Stephanie Crawford was blabbing about, even from our places outside the fence, but something made him mind me and he went along to school. He'd always kept my secret about skipping school that one day. Atticus never knew.

"Good morning, Miss Maudie!" I called, unlocking her white gate and strolling up the walk. "Miss Stephanie," I said, cautiously.

The younger woman nodded at me and posed a smile, but it was purely show. I didn't like it.

Miss Maudie glanced my way and waved. "Good morning, child. How was your Easter, dear?"

I told her all about it. I told her about Jem's fight with me, Dill and me swimming in the creek bed, their digging to China, all of it. I saved the part about Boo last. But I didn't so much as say his name before Stephanie Crawford was howling like a hyena and sneering.

"Now, Miss Jean-Louise, you stay away from that perverted man, you hear? Always something bad coming from his end."

I asked her what she meant, but then decided against feeding her the fuel. I defended Boo. I knew what the word 'pervert' meant, and I sure wasn't about to let some neighborhood hoo-haw talk about Boo negatively. "You don't know a thing 'bout ole Boo Radley, Miss Stephanie!" I yelled, too loud for Miss Maudie, who waved my rant away and plucked a daisy from her soil pot. "You just wanna talk 'bout something!"

But Stephanie Crawford wasn't deterred. She just continued on, bringing me closer to finding out what I've been wanting to know for so long. "That trial can't help him a lick, you know that, Maudie." Then she looked to me. "Your father seems to have an eye for the unwanted. I don't see what he gains by defending those unwanted people. They ain't no good for nothin'."

I lost it. All the control for my elders, all respect. Gone. Out the window. Vanished just like Boo had after his arrest so long ago. I was yelling every profanity I could think of. Luckily, Atticus was at work, and Aunt Alexandra was out with Cal getting this week's groceries, otherwise I would've been heard and switched mercilessly.

Miss Muadie ignored me, whereas Stephanie Crawford played with her cuticles, uninterested in the insults I aimed at her.

Finally, I stopped, short of breath. And curiosity took hold of me again. "What've you got against my friend?"

She smirked. I wanted to slap it away. "He ain't nothing but a dirty, lonely man," was all she said, then Miss Stephanie Crawford walked down the sidewalk and out the gate, just as I'd come. I spent the rest of the morning crying on Miss Maudie Atkinson's porch. She let me, and I was grateful she kept my secret, too. I had another reason for staying solely at Miss Maudie's; I had not the heart to see Boo. I wouldn't know what to say. Obviously, I didn't believe a word Stephanie Crawford said about him. I believed Boo.

When two-thirty came around, the time Dill would be getting out, I sniffed and looked at Miss Maudie, who was embroidering pink flowers in a square of fabric. "Do you believe Miss Stephanie?"

She didn't answer for a while, then, she shook her head. "I don't believe her, child. That Arthur Radley is a very kind spirit, wouldn't hurt a butterfly. When he was around your age, he was always looking for animals to save. Not that he hurt them, he just never walked home without searching for an injured bird, or sickly cat. One time, he found a bird just huddled in a ball right outside my gate. He came to me and said, 'Miss Maudie', he said, 'I do declare there's a sore bird out here. We should help it.' Now, being the Christian I am, Jean-Louise, I couldn't refuse him or the bird. I let him pick the fragile creature up, and he set it aside in the weeds, out of sight of cats. Boy, did he watch it for hours. That's when the storm came. He came inside for some milk and cookies, went back out when the rains stopped, and found the little bird dead, a broken leg, too. Ain't that awful?"

I nodded. "What did he do next?"

"Why, he gave it a proper burial. I bet all of the birds in Maycomb were right jealous of that poor bird. Anyway, he painted on a stone from my garden. It was a makeshift headstone."

"What was the epitaph?"

"Oh, Arthur Radley was very educated in English. He loved to write and make up stories. Why, he was always coming over here and just telling me the most creative of stories. He once told me about a walking, talking dog he'd found out by the Landing."

"Miss Maudie."

"Oh, right. Yes, well, the child wrote, 'In Honor of the Fallen Avian, Omeara.' Ain't that a nice epitaph?"

I couldn't be sure what 'avian' meant, so I told her yes, it was very beautiful for a bird. When Dill came and rattled on the gate, I nodded to Miss Maudie. "Take care," I murmured, walking towards Dill.

Miss Maudie waved, but did not say anything more. She simply turned back to her daffodils. From yonder, I could vaguely see Stephanie Crawford perched on her porch, watching me leave. I spat in her direction, which received a smirk from Dill. His braces blinded me momentarily, as the sun was very much out today, and he took my hand.

While we walked, he talked both of my ears off. "You see, Scout, we can get some babies over yonder in China. Jem and I 'kin just dig that there hole and just tunnel our way over. Won't take no time at all."

"I don't need no baby," I answered. "And it ain't possible, what you're planning. You can't dig to China. It's too far, and there's an ocean or two to think about."

He stared straight ahead, unwilling to look at me. "I want one, Scout. When we're grown and married, will you get me a baby?"

I didn't answer him. I was nine, still unsure of where a baby even came from. I'd always assumed Aunt Alexandra's theory: that the late night storks came once every nine months (I asked her why nine and she said it was only fair to other parents around the world) and dropped a baby of your choice on your doorstep. I didn't want to think about growing up and having babies.

We reached our yards, crossed into separate fences, and went on about our business. I felt I was being watched from across the street, but ignored it and went inside.

Atticus had yet to come home, and I desperately wanted to talk to him. I found Aunt Alexandra sitting in her worn chair, knitting something navy blue. She smiled at my entrance. "Hello, Jean-Louise. Here, help me with these skeins."

I crouched to the floor and held them for her. We were quiet for a while, only listening to the plastic clank of her knitting sticks. I watched her, uninterested, wanting nothing more than to throw the skeins and run outside to watch for Atticus.

"Why, Miss Jean-Louise, you are awfully quiet today. What's got your tongue?"

I shrugged, but earned a reproachful look from her. Right; polite to all elders. I answered her correctly. "I learned Atticus is defending Boo," I said blandly, not expecting her to hold the conversation.

Her hands stopped abruptly, her eyes darting to my face. "How?"

"Miss Stephanie Crawford, Aunty. She was talking bad about Boo to Miss Maudie." I suddenly felt like I was on the whiteness stand, claiming things that may or may not have been true, according to the listening adults.

But my aunty only sighed and returned to her knitting, stealing worried glances at me while she worked. "And how do you feel about it, Jean-Louise?" she asked warily.

I pondered how I felt. What did I feel? "I think… I think it's wrong for Miss Stephanie to spread rumors in that way she does."

Aunt Alexandra looked tired, and worn. She slowly placed her project aside, took the skeins from me, and set aside those, too. "Child, it goes deeper than that," she murmured, touching my chin lightly.

"How deep?" I countered.

She hesitated a moment, then spoke. "Miss Jean-Louise, I do believe you're becoming much more mature, what with you being nine and all. I think you're old enough to know, just like your brother Jeremy."

I nodded my head eagerly. "Yes, ma'am. I'm old enough."

"Well, that Stephanie Crawford claims to have seen Mr. Arthur Radley stealing her… ah, well, her drawers."

I was puzzled. "Aunty, I don't understand. Boo wouldn't steal… and I've seen enough dresser drawers in his house. They're everywhere. Where else would he keep all his knickknacks?"

Aunt Alexandra shook her head and laughed. "No, Arthur wouldn't have stolen _those_ kinds of drawers, now would he? No, Stephanie Crawford meant her underwear, you know, panties and such."

I stared at my aunty.

"Now, Jean-Louise, don't become mute on me. You shouldn't believe everything you hear grown folks say," she muttered.

I stared at her plainly. Boo was no thief, nor could he be… perverted, as Stephanie Crawford said.

Aunt Alexandra was about to say something else, but was cut off by a knocking on our door. She smirked at the threshold. "Now who could that be, Jean-Louise?" she asked, standing up to answer it.

Atticus walked through, passed Aunty, and came straight for me. He picked me up and hugged me to him tenderly. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, burying his face in my curly hair. Aunt Alexandra retreated to the kitchen, and when they were gone, I cried some more on Atticus' shoulder. We didn't speak. Jem came home, went to his room, and ignored the world. I went to bed early that night, and for some reason, Cal, Atticus, and Aunt Alexandra pitied me with milk and cookies. Atticus watched me in my bed until my eyes shut closed.

I dreamt of holed trees, eggs with no color, and tiny towns.

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Please, stay tuned for more. I'm not finished writing it yet, and I certainly intend on finishing! So, don't get tired of waiting for chapters, I promise they're coming.


	9. Chapter 9

I didn't visit Boo the next day; I went to school obediently, and Dill told me he'd smoothed it over with our teacher about me being sick and all. But I was back, and studying my math along with the others. In the afternoon, Dill and I walked right past the Radley house. I felt I was being watched again, but my fear led me straight home. Of course, I missed Boo, and I wanted to visit him, and _read_ to him, but I was sure I wouldn't know what to say.

Atticus didn't ask when he came home, and I didn't bring it up. No one did. We simply went about our business just like every day. Ashamedly, I planned on avoiding Boo until further notice. That was the cowardly part of me. But the other part, the one I favored, told me to suck it up and be mature, handle this as Atticus would.

For three days, I obediently followed my cowardice. I avoided Boo, and subconsciously, I knew well enough there could have been plenty to say. And for three days, Boo was secretly building up his confidence. Yep, ole Boo was preparing to see daylight.

During dinner on the third night of avoiding Boo, Atticus left the table to answer the knock at the door. It was a quiet, timid knock, one I could only guess was from the shy hands of my shy friend. We were all silent when Atticus strolled back to the room with Boo in tow. He pulled out an extra chair for Boo, but he declined, and went to lean against the farthest wall. I wished I had a camera for the look on Jem's face when he saw Boo for that first time. Aunt Alexandra just stared at her plate. I watched Atticus.

But he noticed. "That's rude, Scout. Acquaint your guest properly, would you please?"

Reluctantly, I threw down my napkin and glanced at Boo, realizing he'd been watching me. "C'mon, Boo," I whispered, taking his hand and leading him outside, out of earshot. It was dark, nearing night, explaining why Boo was here now.

We sat on the steps, and I released his hand to play with my shoe laces, recently bought by Aunt Alexandra for school. He didn't say anything, and neither did I. But I knew the moment would come when I'd have to apologize for my selfishness, if it could be called that.

As I opened my mouth to speak, Boo looked to me. "You weren't there," he whispered.

And just like that, I lost it again. This time, no profanities, just tears and reckless sobbing. Somehow, I wound up in Boo's arms, being held just as Atticus would in this situation of comforting. He rubbed my back slowly, in circles, and hummed something that sounded like 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star'.

We sat there for nearly an hour, and then I pulled away. "I'm sorry, Boo, I'm sorry," I kept repeating like a mantra.

He just watched me. Watched me dry my tears, cry some more, then dry them again. When I'd finally calmed down, he turned and reached into his pocket. He brought it back out and held out a ribbon. "You left this," he murmured, placing it in my hand and closing my fingers around it.

I stared at it, uncomprehending. Then I got it; I'd worn a ribbon on Easter, this very blue one. I didn't realize I'd lost it until then. "Thank you, Boo," I said, hugging him again. Maybe unnecessary, but he didn't have to know I was hugging him in thanks for _everything_ he'd done for me. He was none the wiser, yet he hugged me back. I gladly took his embrace as forgiveness.

When Boo began to get agitated by the openness, he leaned down a little and asked me to walk him home, reminding me of his first night here, how he asked me the very same thing.

I gladly took his hand and did just that—again. As we arrived at his door, Boo smiled at me slightly, in that crooked way of his, and tapped my forehead. Uncertainly, I said, "You can, Boo, I don't mind."

So he leaned down and as fast as a cougar, kissed my forehead, then shut the door before I could say goodnight. I went home, ignored Jem's questions about said Boo, and made straight for Atticus, who sat in his chair reading the paper. "Atticus?" I asked, noting how small my voice sounded. I didn't like how weak it was.

"Yes?" he replied slowly, glancing up at me, alarmed at hos disheveled I probably looked, having cried for such a long time. "Are you alright, Scout?"

"No. No, Atticus, I don't think I am," I said, crawling into his lap. He slapped the paper down sent Jem and Aunt Alexandra away—as politely as he could.

"Tell me, now, please."

So I did; I told him about Boo's egg hunting, his tiny town display, even about his green room. Atticus just sat back and listened, intent on fixing whatever was wrong with our mingled situations.

Finally, when I finished, he smiled. "He _will_ be alright, Scout. You have nothing to worry about. Stephanie Crawford has no real evidence. Please, don't fret over anything. The worst the court can justify is that he'd stolen."

I didn't listen to him, I was only thinking about what Boo had given to me for Atticus. I now asked him about it.

He hesitated, then answered swiftly. "Arthur Radley gave me that newspaper to help me prove to the judge that he'd been somewhere completely different the that Stephanie Crawford claimed he'd… stolen from her."

I looked at him doubtfully. "So where was he then?"

Atticus smiled again. "Did you know Arthur Benjamin Radley wrote for the Maycomb newspaper?"

I balked. "Really? He submits things for the _newspaper_?"

Atticus nodded slowly. "He does. But he goes by a different name, Earnest T. Howe, so no one knows it's really him behind the disguise."

I was nearly jumping in Atticus' lap, I was so thrilled. Boo wrote! He _wrote_ for people to read. I still wondered why he wanted me to read to him, and I intended on asking him tomorrow—yes, I knew there would be no more avoiding—but I wasn't finished talking to Atticus about Boo's trial. Apparently, he thought I was. He sent me to bed, reminding me it was a school night. I had no choice but to oblige and go without resistance.

* * *

Okay, let me just say how _sorry_ I am for not updating sooner. Like I may have mentioned in my profile, I hate it when stories go unfinished, and boy, am I going to finish this one. Please just bear with me, I have the basic plot in line now, and it's coming along, I promise.

Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

At school the next day, I was swinging on the playground, reading one of Boo's favorites, when Cecil Jacobs came up.

"Me and the boys was wantin' to know how Boo's doin', Scout. Mind telling us what's going on in court?"

Furious, I swung at him- and missed. He kicked dust at me and the next thing I knew, Cecil was sprawled on the ground, looking at something behind my shoulder. I turned and saw Dill smirking at the boy.

"Don't do it again, Jacobs," he warned, spitting in Cecil's direction. The boy shot up from the ground and ran.

I walked off, searching for another part of the schoolyard to read. I didn't thank Dill.

But he followed, and I sighed. "Dill, you best get off my trail lest I give you a black eye," I stated, leafing through the book.

"You shouldn't let those babies get to you, Scout, they're babies." He sat down beside me, our backs pressed against the tree.

I shrugged at his comment. "I don't. And I shouldn't let babies fight for me neither, now should I?"

He grinned at me, revealing those shiny braces again. He was getting more used to letting me see them, and I liked the fact that he didn't mind.

The bell rang, and we gathered our things to head home. On the walk, we passed Stephanie Crawford trimming her hedges. I stuck my tongue out at her and earned a reproachful glance. Dill pulled me along, intent on getting me away from her.

We eventually made it to his gate, where I left him to head to Boo's. I watched my feet as they lead me to the Radley door. I hadn't even knocked yet when it opened silently. "Hello," he mumbled softly.

I nodded and smiled, taking it upon myself to amble past him and inside. The book in my hands felt heavy and I set it down gently on the table nearest me.

Boo walked to the couch and patted the space beside him gently. Sluggishly, I took the seat beside him. Looking at Boo's forlorn face, I suddenly felt mad, irritated. "How come you haven't said nothin' bout your trial?" I asked, balling my fists. I briefly realized I had intentionally came here to read to Boo, not accuse him of innocent wrong-doings.

Somehow, he caught the anger in my small voice and stared at me wide-eyed. He bit his lip and his cheeks swelled, as if tears were forming. I reached out to him, to prevent him from crying, but he flinched away, something he hadn't done since I became his friend.

He didn't answer me for a while. He just kept chewing on his lip and puckering his cheeks. When I finally realized he'd probably stay this way, I stood to leave, as it was getting time for Atticus to come home. But Boo must've come back; his hand shot out and clutched my wrist, pulling me back down. It wasn't hurtful, but it did startle me.

He released his lip and finally looked at me. "I didn't tell Mr. Finch," he whispered, his white lips barely moving.

I stooped closer, realizing a dark figure in the other room. Mr. Nathan sat at the kitchen table, reading his newspaper. "Tell him what, Boo?" I whispered back.

His breathing hitched, and I heard a slight sob in his throat. He bit it back and swallowed. "She saw me."

I stopped breathing. It was so quiet I could hear the mingle of our heartbeats; Boo's was slow and even, barely noticeable; mine was picking up speed by the lingering second. Mr. Nathan sighed and folded his newspaper loudly. Uncomprehending what he'd just admitted, I began to slowly shake my head. "No, no. No. _No._" I kept repeating that one word, sure that he was lying. I didn't want to believe, didn't want to understand. But somehow my mind was maturing, becoming more susceptible to these stupid adult issues.

Boo's fingers grazed my hands, comforting me, but I reared back and fell from the couch. Embarrassed, I scrambled to my feet and made for the kitchen. I'd grown so comfortable here, I knew I was granted any refreshment or snack I desired. Mr. Nathan raised his eyebrows at me as I shot past him and to the sink.

"Miss Finch?" With my back turned from the man, I fumbled for a glass in the higher cabinet. I ignored the long bony hand that reached from behind me and brought it back, in my reach. I whirled around and grabbed the chair beside Mr. Nathan. Now that I was tall enough, I jerked the glass from Boo and set it back inside the cabinet, grabbing it again after a moment of silence.

"Miss Finch," Boo's brother sighed tiredly. "I believe you're upset and not feeling up for a visit, hmm?"

I gritted my teeth, turning on the faucet to fill the glass. "_No,_" I said venomously.

"Shall I escort you home then?" I heard the smile in his voice and bit the inside of my cheek. I couldn't see how three words had angered me so ferociously, and a small part of me knew Boo had a story to tell. I ignored that part and downed the water.

"No," I said, placing the glass gently in the sink. I could feel the violence fading from my system, and I brought the chair back beside Mr. Nathan, taking the seat tiredly. Boo sat in the chair opposite of me and stared at the furnished wood.

"Miss Finch, if you intend to stay for an explanation, you need to control your actions and temper. For Arthur's sake, please."

I nodded, understanding how crucial it was to keep composed—_for Boo's sake_.

"Alrighty, then." Mr. Nathan looked to his brother. "Would you like to explain, son?"

Boo didn't look up. "Yes, please," he murmured between unmoving lips.

Mr. Nathan sighed and stood from his chair, taking the folded newspaper with him. "Good lad, good lad. Just take your time, Arthur. And Miss Finch?"

I brought my gaze up to his soft eyes.

"Please be considerate. Hear him out." He left the room then, leaving me to a potential pervert. I was none the wiser until I'd hear the rest of Boo's story.

We sat in an agonizing silence until Boo straightened his shoulders and placed his hands on the table, one on top of the other.

"I'm not sick," he whispered. "And I'm no lonely man."

I began to bite my cheek again, fighting the urge to remind him of Stephanie Crawford's words. But something held me back, something that told me Boo would finally speak—accordingly.

"I'm not lonely because I have a friend, and a brother, and a man who believes in my innocence."

I gasped, but said nothing. This moment was Boo's.

"Our neighbor has twisted the story," he murmured, looking at his chalky white hands. "Ruining the friendly allusion you seem to have of me."

He paused, then sighed. "Mr. Finch does not know… that she saw me."

I could vaguely taste blood in my mouth, from my fierce biting, and stood to fill another glass. Boo shook his head and reached for the cabinet, pulling another cup out. He ran it under the faucet and set it gently in front of me. I watched him, but took no notice of his gracious offer.

When he didn't answer, I released the inside of my cheek. "How do you think Atticus is going to help you what with you hiding the truth?" My voice came out muffled by the throb of my cheek.

Boo hung his head, ashamed. "I wasn't stealing anything of hers."

"Then what were you doing, Boo? _Lookin'_ at her bloomers?" I crossed my arms and glared at him. I briefly heard a tiny voice in my head that reminded me of Mr. Nathan's words. I then knew I had to listen. There was more to his story. I needed to be patient.

He considered his answer. "She—she stole…"

"Miss Stephanie stole from you, Boo?" I asked incredulously.

His head tilted slightly down, then back.

"What, Boo?"

"My—" His words were cut short by his sudden tears.

In any other scenario, I would have immediately comforted him, seeing as he cried often in my presence. But now, I still hadn't heard the whole of it.

"My rattle," he whimpered, hiding his pale face behind his bony hands.

I gaped at him, uncomprehending. "Why would Stephanie Crawford steal your rattle? That just don't make sense, Boo. Your story better add up, and add up quick."

Mr. Nathan stuck his head in the doorway and raised his eyebrows. I sighed and gestured for Boo to go on. Mr. Nathan disappeared.

Boo peeped from his fingers and watched me intently before proceeding. "Friends should think truthfully of their friends, yes?"

I hesitated, then nodded seriously. "Guess so."

"Then why aren't you my friend… Scout?"

I had no excuse; none that justified my actions properly, that is. "I-I'm sorry, Boo."

He looked away and to the window. "Your father's here, Miss Finch," Mr. Nathan called from the living room.

I stood up stiffly, and glanced at Boo. "You can tell Atticus," I murmured, then paused. "He'll find a way. I think he has the will to help you Boo. He's just gotta find the way."

I left without giving him our customary goodbye hug.

* * *

And thus, the plot is seteth in motion! I promise there's a reason for the stealing of his rattle- poor Boo :( So, stay tuned, lovelies! More is on the way most deffinately!


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, this chapter really has no value, and it may have a few grammatical errors, but I think as the author, I'll it slide just this once. I'm tired, I've just finished my third week of ninth grade, and haven't had time to enjoy the virtues of writing again. So, without further adieu, thanks for clicking and ignore any mistakes.

* * *

Remarkably, another week passed, and I had enough strength to avoid Stephanie Crawford, the apparent neighborhood bully back in Boo's day. Once I got home and asked Aunty about it all, minding the fact that I told Boo he could trust him, Aunt Alexandra explained to me that Stephanie and Arthur had grown up together. I wasn't surprised—they were both nearly the same age (in their early thirties, no doubt) and had known the neighborhood here all their lives. I was a bit more surprised Boo hadn't elaborated this fact.

All in all, I realized I learned so much more about Boo in the last month than I had all my years playing his mother with Dill and Jem and mocking his rumored oddities. Boo was, in fact, an avid friend, who loved to read the same adventures over and over, who enjoyed a child's company, and who also spent his days watching the window for that friend to walk along to his door. It was definite that Boo loved me. And I him. Being nine and mature and all, I knew the distinction between Dill's love for me than Boo's. Dill's was more like a romance, one that I would have rather ignored and dealt with later, and Boo's was rather protective, and adoring. It reminded me of Atticus, and more so of Jem. Yes, it was perhaps a brotherly love.

I was mulling over this discovery on the porch when Aunt Alexandra called for me behind the screen door.

"Come on, Jean- Louise. Your father wants a word."

I stood from the swing, set my book aside, and pulled my trousers up. I held my chin out and stalked past Auntie. She grinned at me, and I pretended my only obligation was to get to the kitchen table.

When I walked in, Jem looked down at the placemat before him, seemingly uncomfortable about something.

"You wanted me, sir?" I asked, pulling the heavy chair out.

Atticus nodded, his lips toying with an amused smile. "You've made amends with Arthur, I presume?"

I nodded, watching him solemnly.

Atticus waited, for what, I didn't know. Oh, well. I've already told him everything he needed to know. I shoveled in another bite of the cake. "Scout, you have something to tell me."

I glanced up, cautious."Sir?" Jem didn't meet my gaze as it settled on him. "And what's your business here, Jem Finch?" I asked venomously. I didn't want him prying.

He looked at me awkwardly and shrugged. That's when Atticus slapped the table with his fist, demanding our attention. "Scout, you leave Jem be, he's had it rough today."

I didn't answer, but my eyes traveled the length of him, from his toes to the crown of his head. That's when I saw it; a very, very scary looking welt pattern running the course of his neck. From left to right. It was truly terrifying, and I wondered why there wasn't an ice-pack in place there.

"What happened, Jem?" I whispered, my voice smaller than the defiance I had just presented to his presence.

He sniffed and tenderly, so lightly it was barely touching, he grazed the largest welt with the tip of his finger. "Got in a fight, s'all."

Atticus sighed and leaned forward. "Cal can fetch some ice, son. You don't have to brave it."

Jem shook his head fiercely. "_No_. _He_ said I needed to be tough!" he cried, hiding his face behind his hands. "I don't want your ice!" With that, he pushed back from the table, knocking the chair over, and fled from the room.

I stared at my plate. Atticus didn't explain the oddity of Jem's behavior. Not this time. He didn't have to at all. He only replaced his saddened frown with a soft smile of understanding and excused himself from the table properly. I didn't move. Not until Cal came in, hugging a platter-sized bowl to her hips. I glanced inside and noticed it was banana pudding.

She shook her head at me and swatted my hand away as I began to scoot my finger to the gooey delicacy. "This ain't for you, Miss Scout. At least, not until you do some explaining."

I hung my head. "What have I got to say?"

"How come you all sore about Boo?"

I crossed my legs and stood straighter, something Aunt Alexandra enforced daily, something I hated doing unless under deep pressure.

"I want to see his justice."

I hadn't thought of her reaction to my bland statement, but crying wasn't it. I'd seen so many tears in such a short amount of time that I was shocked I hadn't suspected them now. But cry she did. Cal just set the bowl in front of me, and I ignored it at all costs. Temptation. It was tempting, but I was transfixed by Cal's soft sobbing. It wasn't like Boo's, all reckless and completely _not_ soft; it was quiet, meaningful, and maybe even grave. Like she wished to see the justice, too.

* * *

I hadn't realized. Not once did I note a clue, a hint. Atticus, my mentor, my consultant, my _father… _did not mention the trial date. It was yesterday. _Yesterday._ And I wasn't there for Boo. And better yet, it was Miss Stephanie Crawford who'd told me.

I was walking with Dill to school, him muttering things about a rumored stork and how it carried babies of your choice—a great lot of malarkey. But I'd forgotten that on Wednesdays, Stephanie would always be hedging her lawn bushes and watering the weeds in her flower garden. We ambled past her, and I kept good on holding my tongue, ignoring her sneers—_everything_. As soon as she was behind us, I heard her sheer voice cry: "Wish me luck today, Miss Scout! I'm sure with your _father_ defending our Arthur, _my_ lawyer can't possibly stand a _chance_!"

It wasn't a compliment. None at all. And it would have been easy to ignore that snide remark, had it not been for the dead give-away. I spun around quicker than a 'skeeter and marched to her white picket fence gate. Dill was close behind, yet he kept a little distance.

"Boo's coming out? Today?" I cried, desperate to hear her laugh away the evil joke. Although it was anything but. Boo would come out, and come out he did.

Stephanie shrugged me away, claiming to be tired. As soon as she went inside, I swear I could faintly hear the sound of soft, jingling rattle. The noise disgusted me, and I walked with Dill to school fighting the urge to turn around and trample her flower bed.

It was when we finally arrived at the school-yard that I decided to accompany Boo as a supporter. I was too late. The trial began just as my name was taken up on the roll-call.

* * *

And there you have it: a very boring, not so significant chapter that just needed to be written. Thanks for reading anyway, my followers! And please stay tuned for more! I have not failed/abandoned this story yet, nor do I have the intention of doing so. :3


	12. Chapter 12

I raised my hand obediently, shyly mumbled my attendance, and brought it down again. Dill looked at me curiously from the desk beside me, but I ignored him. I was in a daze, my own little corner. And I couldn't seem to find the door. Looking back on it, Dill had told me I sat at my desk, 'never blinkin' or nothin'. I was fixed on one thing: and that was of my attendance in the wrong place.

As soon as the bell rang at eleven, I flew out of my seat and out the door. I passed the playground, ignored the long stretch of pavement that went home, and made a beeline for the court house. _Surely_ it wasn't over yet.

Finally, I reached the destination. The great wooden doors were too heavy for me, and I had to push with all I could. To my relief—and annoyance—I found I was being helped by Dill. Together we pushed the barriers and they slowly inched open. We fell forward inside, but I didn't care. I hastily stood and listened.

Atticus was speaking.

I could hear his faint voice coming from around the corner hallway. Dill found my hand and held tight. We walked into the room unnoticed.

Surprisingly, it did not hold a full house. All in all, there were a maximum of twelve people in the jury, then the judge, the defendant and prosecutor, and a few personal alliances. To my utter relief, Miss Maudie was seated pertly beside… _Is that _Jem? I thought, thinking back to two days ago, when I watched Cal cry for Boo, and Atticus' failing to mention the trail date, and Jem's own anxiety.

Then my gaze fatefully landed on Boo. Tears welled, and my hand clenched Dill's until his knuckles turned white. He didn't say a word, only held tighter.

Boo was hunched over a big table, crying softly. Atticus was not beside him. He was inquiring Miss Stephanie Crawford at the witness stand. And, ashamedly, I relished in seeing my father unleash volley after volley of questions; in seeing as she twitched uncomfortably with each one; in seeing her crumble beneath him.

I scanned the pews for some empty seats, finding that both Miss Maudie and Jem were sitting beside Mr. Nathan Radley, and behind them were—on assumption—Stephanie's kin. I regarded them with silent hostility and marched up the aisle to Miss Maudie and Jem. They were shocked, yes, but welcomed Dill and I. Mr. Nathan smiled slightly but kept his eyes on Atticus. Once settled beneath Miss Maudie's warm arm and Jem's soft gaze, I listened to the unfolding of this whole mess.

Atticus was pacing. Judge Taylor was fanning a fly away. And Miss Stephanie was sweating bullets.

"And you were assuming… what? That he'd 'leave you be'?... Miss Crawford, I assure you that… a manor of justice will be served, whoever the person it shall be granted… But, in order to obtain such a thing, we need the factual evidence. And as of thus far," he paused, breathing deeply and eyeing her meaningfully. "-your senseless rumors hold nothing against our dear Arthur."

An eerie silence followed, and I could see the gears turning in the bully's head. Abruptly, she straightened her shoulders and held her chin out. I knew this posture; I'd done it many times in defiance, or to keep my dignity when chastised. It was likely both for Stephanie.

"You want that answer to yer question?" she finally asked, jerking her chin at Judge Taylor.

Atticus smiled. "That may help a bit. Please, by all means, answer to the best of your ability."

"A'righty, then. I've said it a'fore, an' I won't waist my breath repeatin' it. But I will say this. I've said my peace, testified my story, and I'll be right fine sticking by it. Now, you gonna 'rrest this pervert or not?" She hooked her thumb to Boo, who stiffened and looked to Atticus fearfully.

Atticus' smile wavered, and he waved a hand at Boo. "My dear neighbor," he murmured to Stephanie. "You are too naïve." He spun on his heal and retreated back to his vacant chair beside Boo.

Judge Taylor grinned down at the surprised woman. "Anythin' else you gotta say a'fore I do some sentencin'?"

There was a pause, then she shook her head. "Reckon not." He then brought down the gavel. A break. We were given a break. And I couldn't waist time. As everyone filed out, I caught site of Boo. Unsurprisingly, he was huddled behind the banister leading upstairs. I slowly approached him, then sat down.

He didn't look up. He knew it was me.

I twittled my thumbs until I could take the silence no longer. "…Are ya doin' swell, Boo?"

He shook his head.

I laced my fingers around his bony wrist and waited. "I'm here now, Boo."

He nodded again. This time, he closed his eyes, smiling slightly.

"Boo…?"

"Will you under-stand me?" he asked, eyes still closed, smile vanished.

I bit my lip. Did I understand Boo? I thought it over a second, then knew. "Course I do, Boo. I may not have always understood ya, but I've learned to now."

He shook his head, suddenly impatient. "No, Scout. You haven't. Not yet. Will you under-stand me?" he asked again, this time looking at me for assurance.

"What do ya mean, Boo? I know ya now. I know why you keep to yourself; I know why you loved your ma; why you loved Jem and me even when we were nasty to ya. I know you, Boo."

"In the ancient context," he whispered, hiding his face behind his white hands. "Under-standing a person meant you supported them, carried them in need. You haven't, Scout."

I stared at him. Under-stand? Understand…? With closer deduction, one could nearly see the similar meanings between the two. At the tender age of nine, I was all for it.

You listen, Boo. Ole Atticus is gon' take good care of ya. Don't you worry a lick. I'll be sitting 'tween Miss Maudie and Jem, ya hear? An' when the time comes, I'll under-stand ya. Right up there on the witness stand. Okie dokie?"

He smiled. It wasn't the laugh I wanted to hear, but it still counted. _Stephanie won't have a thing on 'em,_ I thought as we headed back from the meaningful break.

* * *

Okay, I'm breathing a sigh of relief. Another chapter posted, and I'm still not done.

High school.

That's my excuse. Be it lame, but it's legit. I'm terribly sorry for the wait, but it's up now, and another should follow soon. I'm literally struggling to keep up with my writing carreer. And It's so not easy when you're English teacher is the barrer of bad news. Says ninth grade isn't supposed to be writing as much fiction but more real-wordly things. Stuff like... Dare I say it... Essays. My skin crawls at the horrid writing.

Anywho, thankx for reading and/or tolerating my mess of excuses! (^.^)


	13. Chapter 13

Judge Taylor called us back in. I hadn't realized I was breathing heavily, hadn't realized how scared I was for Boo.

I kept reminded myself that Boo needed me. That I was to under-stand him, support him, carry his burden in more- exaggerate matters. I hoped this would end soon; Boo was looking paler than ever, no doubt sweating bullets with anxiety.

Judge Taylor took his seat, silencing the quiet babbly amongst the court's people and jury.

He sighed really heavily, announcing his authority. "We ready to end this, Atticus?" he mumbled, chuckling softly.

Atticus smiled slightly and shuffled through a thin stack of papers. "I'd like to call someone's testimony, Your Honor."

Judge Taylor nodded and gestured to hurry it along.

"I'd like Jean Finch to testify."

I froze. People turned their heads to look at me, the tiny tomboy supposedly hear out of nosy curiosity. Did they know of mine and Boo's friendship? Did they care? Or were they hear out of nosy curiosity themselves? I tried to ignore their staring and stood stiffly to walk to the front.

_Hi, Atticus, _I mouthed silently to my father. He smiled, turned to Judge Taylor, and nodded.

"Miss Finch," he began, pacing about in front of me, hoping to ease the tension. "What is the matter at hand here?"

I looked at my trembling hands. They were a little grimy, very much in need of one of Aunt Alexandra's manicures. I hated it when she forced me and Jem into partaking in them. Jem was always mortified when going to school with "polished girl fingers". But Aunt Alexandra only cleaned the dirt from underneath _his_.

"Miss Finch?" Atticus murmured, drawing my attention back to his question. "What are you thinking?"

My eyes darted back and forth to my father and Boo, then to Stephanie. She grimaced and turned away.

"Well, I—"

"Come on, Atticus!" A shrill voice rang out, causing me to stutter back to silence. It was Stephanie. "This ain't important! Make her and that boy of yours go home and burn their hides! They ain't much use he—"

Judge Taylor swung the gavel down, silencing the enraged women. "You _will_ hold your tongue, Ms. Crawford," he barked, eyeing her viciously.

Atticus cleared his throat, catching my gaze and calming my frazzled nerves.

His question… Was I supposed to answer with an opinion? Or give the court what it needed to hear?

No, I couldn't do that. Not to Boo. This wasn't about some rattle. It wasn't about a forgiving, misunderstood Arthur, and it wasn't about some neighborhood gossip ranting on and on about a local pervert outside her window like a peeping tom.

This was about caste. Boo, and Tom, and all of the other innocent people discriminated because they are of difference. This wasn't some petty knicker- stealing fling. Or some rumors here and there. It was separation, victimization, and injustice among the humble people of Maycomb.

_Don't hold anything from Atticus, _I thought, eyeing my friend Arthur, and his bully Stephanie.

I took a deep breath and began. Starting with Tom.

"Sir," I whispered, looking away from the two and to Atticus. "Tom Robinson was a black egg."

I nearly smiled at the sight of everyone's face displaying surprise and genuine shock. A nine-year-old understood _that_ case? Rubbish.

Atticus nodded at me and smirked slightly. "That's a closed case, Miss Finch."

"I know, but I need to say this, sir." I paused, breathed in quickly, and let it all out in a rush. No pauses for breath, no looking away from my father's curious eyes. _No _distractions.

"You see, sir, this Easter, I spent it with my best friend Arthur Boo Radley. I hid my colored Easter eggs and he looked high and low for 'em. I think he was humoring me," I added, whispering a little lower for effect. "But when it came time to find the last egg, the special one, I hid it upstairs, out of the way. Boo found it inside my Christmas present. It was a tiny scale of Maycomb, sir. It was very grand. Boo—"

"Enough!" Judge Taylor's voice rang out. "Atticus, contain this here youngin'. She ain't fit for the witness stand!"

Atticus looked away. "Your Honor, with all due respect, I believe my daughter has something pivotal here to say. Please, Miss Finch," he murmured to me, "continue with your account."

I nodded and focused on the high floor-to-ceiling windows. "Boo found the last egg." I said blandly. "And I told him about color. How it didn't matter." That's when I heard a few gasps seep from the jury. Judge Taylor glared at the few of them and tried to listen again. "I-I tried to show Boo that color was okay, that the egg still served the same purpose as any egg would on Easter."

Atticus smiled now. Genuinely. "Miss Finch is certainly well—fit for the stand, Your Honor," he murmured proudly, fond of my testimony. Something told me his high praise would be short-lived.

"Tom Robinson _was_ a black egg, but that doesn't mean he was rotten. He didn't hurt that gal. He shouldn't have been accused at first glance. He—"

Stephanie Craford spoke up once more, despite the judges growing irritation. "We ain't humoring no closed case, Jean-Louise! You git to the point 'fore we all die old an' withered!"

"_Fine_!" I screamed, pounding my right fist like Judge Taylor's gavel. I was mad. Really mad. I wanted Stephanie to listen this time. "I know you saw him! He told me hisself! An' I know you starting these here rumors is scaring the life outta him! These games you're playing mean nothing to this court! Miss Stephanie, your opinionated prejudices need to stop right here! I love Boo, and he's my friend, and I'll be struck by God's fiery lightnin' bolt 'fore I let you send him off to a jail cell!"

She sat back the while, listening, absorbing my words. I couldn't interpret if they were taken positively or negatively. "You know, I saw him a kissin' you weeks ago."

It was so quiet. I couldn't breathe. Just another twist of her stories. Boo had only ever kissed my forehead. That's it. Once. Like a father or brother would. But the court wouldn't believe a child, one who could be easily persuaded to keep secrets.

And I couldn't look at Boo. Regrettably, my eyes did wander to the horrorstruck, ashen face of my father, who never betrayed his usual calm demeanor. He was looking at Boo funny. "Arthur…?"

Arthur Radley began acting funny, too. He shook his head frantically and rocked slightly in his chair, and clutched the sides of his face, hiding from my father's dazed stare.

Judge Taylor broke the reckless silence. "…Miss Finch—"

"_Liar_!" I yelled, jumping from the stand. I made my way to Stephanie Crawford's desk and began clawing at her ankles. "You lyin' gossip! Boo wouldn't dare hurt me!"

She sighed and did something really surprising. "Oh, child, here." And she picked me up, like Cal would when I injured my knee playing. It was almost… _mothering_.

I ranted and kicked. "Get your claws off o' me, women!"

The sheriff intervened then. "Miss Finch, I'll have to escort you out now. You're causing a little scene here, see."

I cried. I let the tall sheriff lead my by the elbow outside. I ignored him telling me to walk the way home to Aunty Alexandra.

By the time I reached the gate, there was a salty taste dried on my lips and I couldn't remember why. I didn't eat dinner that night, and I didn't speak to Atticus. Not at all. When Jem tried to knock on my door, I ignored him. When he brought Dill over to help, I ignored him, too. I didn't want to speak. Not to my father, brother, aunty, fiancé, or even sweet Miss Maudie. I especially didn't want to speak to Arthur.

* * *

Please, please, please, don't hate me for keeping you lovely people waiting. I've recently suffered from short-term writer's block and have only now (due to Thanksgiving Break) gotten the chance to complete this chapter.

Also, after two full months of leaving this story alone, I had to refresh my memory and read it all again. And, I cannot believe it. I have so many mistakes and grammatical accidents throughout the length of this story that I'm ashamed to call myself an author. Really. And it makes me feel that much more guilty when I recieve such amazing, awesome, encouraging reviews from you. Which in retrospect makes me happy, too.

Anywho, I promised this wouldn't be abandoned. I recall promising that. Please hang in there with me. I'll have the next chapter up as soon as possible.

Thank you all so much! You're truly wonderful.

Happy Thanksgiving!


	14. Chapter 14

OK, I don't usually leave a note up here, and I wouldn't really call it an Author's Note. More like a WARNING.

So, without further adieu...

_ATTENTION_

In this chapter, I've presented a very real, very vulgar theme, and my whole apologies for some readers who are offended. I didn't write this chapter to express a point, though you can perceive what you'd like. I'm against child abuse, obviously, and again, I'm sorry for having to bring this up. If you wish to avoid said theme(s), please, by all means, do not let me alter your comfort zone. I want my readers feeling at ease with my story, not repulsed.

Once more, I didn't even intend to bring such a vile atrocity up in my story. In all truth, I meant for this "sequel" to be nothing more than an after thought of Scout's childhood and the emergence of Boo's hidden character. Never thought of adding another enduring trial, and I'd like to give the blame to the neighborhood gossip of Harper Lee's creation. The Crawford gal appeared to me as the deviant static character who'd eventually 'play all the right cards' in her favor.

I wish not to offend the readers of my story, His Shoes. I only wanted to _personally project_ the idea of evolving Arthur Radley's character, his familiarity with Scout, and the process of her learning to under-stand his shoes.

Thank you,

so very much.

* * *

It was very weird the next few days. Atticus would tear up nearly every time I came upon his presence. He believed Stephanie. Plain and simple. And he had nothing left for Boo: no will to help him, no pity for his "loneliness". Only, as it seemed, utter and complete worry. I couldn't understand, though; was it worry for his trial still? or worry that he wouldn't be given the proper punishment.

I knew what they accused Boo of now. I learned the word. It sounded nasty, something I didn't like thinking about at all. And when Aunt Alexandra told me the meaning of said word, I knew it really was nasty. Molestation. That was Stephanie Crawford's chosen card. And, boy, did she play it better than Jem when we played our favorite card game, Go Fish.

Despite Atticus crying at the sight of me, or Jem not knowing what to say, or Dill never holding my hand anymore, just my shoulder, Aunt Alexandra was the only one who treated me positively. Not out of remorse or pity.

When Atticus couldn't bring himself to tuck me in at night, she was the one to do so. She pushed the blanket beneath my sides, whispered some words, and then kiss my forehead so slightly. I think she was afraid for me. I think she secretly hated something about the situation. I think she knew my position a little more than she let on.

But my "position" was fake, made-up, poppycock, whatever word used for fictional purposes, that's what this was. Boo would never, ever, never ever _ever_ in his right mind lay a finger on me in so much as a playful punch like Jem and I share. He was _good_, and being nine, I couldn't see why a thirty-one year old man would be seen any different. But then, learning that one new word, I knew exactly how he would be seen.

_Sick_.

And not in the regurgitating, pale, cold sickness that came in the inevitable package of the winter season, but the lonely kind Stephanie spoke of.

And no one at all knew what his shoes were like. I did, but I was nine, and who'd trust my word over that of a grown, independent woman? Not one soul.

I had to make things right. I had to convince Judge Taylor. And Atticus. And Miss Maudie, whom also cried at the sudden 'revelation' of this whole case. And I had to convince Atticus. He of all Boo's saviors, needed to believe that Arthur Boo Radley was an innocent among all of us sinners.

One night, I tried to speak some of this to my aunt while she routinely tucked me in for the night. Jem stood in the doorway, leaning with his arms crossed. His brow was raised, as it always was when he worried, and he didn't look away from my trembling lips as I opened them to speak for the first time in five days.

"Aunt Alexandra," I began, catching her attention immediately. Of course, it seemed only reasonable that I would slip into a child-like depression and not utter a single syllable since "the truth" was "revealed" in the last courts session. And, regretfully, I realized it had only added to Stephanie Crawford's accusation.

My aunt looked to my face in surprise. It seemed everyone around me had begun to expect my refusal of words. "Jean Louise?"

"You wouldn't believe me... would you?" I whispered, looking to Jem. Atticus appeared in the doorway beside him. Had my long-awaited voice summoned his attention, too? I felt a twinge of guilt.

Atticus, pale and melancholy, answered. "How can you ask me to believe his innocence? How can I trust that he never…" my sad, worn father looked away, then bit his lip. "-h-he never took advantage…?" He brought his withering hands to his face, hiding the onslaught of tears that came from the devastation and destruction of youth.

_But there was no destruction of youth! Not ever, not ever! _

_Why was it so hard to believe that a shy, frightened little man would not harm a hair on my head?_

There was an easy answer, I supposed. Perhaps the people of Maycomb felt that so much peculiarity of one little man couldn't possibly _not_ amount to anything more than a _lonely man_. There couldn't _possibly_ be an explanation for a blameless, friendly, yet shy, young man. If people had believed in miracles then, such as Boo himself, then maybe Boo wouldn't have ended up with a few bruises.

Then, Atticus was to attend court on the twenty-first of November. This would be the last of Boo's ongoing trial. We would finally know the verdict.

I couldn't bring myself to worry about it. Or think much of it. I only sat on the porch swing for long hours at a time, waiting for Cal to call me for dinner. Every day. I wasn't allowed to go to school. Not until the doctor I'd never met so it was alright.

And today, my routine was changed. Drastically.

I heard a thump interrupt my easy silence and turned to look at the source. It was Dill, stumbling over the fence. He'd fallen, and I wondered idly if his braces had graveled any dirt or grass.

He shuffled to stand, then found me staring at him. "S-scout? W-what're you doing out? Y-you should be inside…" He reached the porch, watching his feet, just as Jem came out.

"You a'right, Scout?" he murmured, putting an arm around me. Dill away as I nodded.

"Just wanted some fresh air," I whispered, shuffling back to the swing. They seated themselves beside me, both occupying their hands with mine.

Jem chuckled half-heartedly. "In your nightgown?"

I looked down. Oh. I wasn't dressed in my usual attire. Had I really forgotten? Dill hadn't looked me in the eyes since his arrival, perhaps this was why. Strangely, I couldn't bring myself to feel embarrassment. Only impatience for the twenty-first.

They talked to me, Jem and Dill. I couldn't hold a conversation well; I had nothing really to offer. But neither minded. We all tried to be kids. Softly, loudly, we hadn't been kids together in a while. Then, Jem had an idea.

Of course, I agreed. It was the perfect solution to this mess we children had involved ourselves in.

Jem, Dill, and I each took part in the planning in Jem's room. He had a desk big enough for our six elbows to work.

When Cal called from the kitchen for dinner, Jem sat back from his chair, looked once more at the various papers, and sighed. "Tonight, we dig to China." Dill and I whooped and clapped, anticipating the relishing of our ending childhood.

* * *

So...

Major turn of events...

Do you hate me now? The story? The characters? I completely understand! Honest!

I can't stress my apologies enough. I am sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry... You get the picture. I hope.

I think I have the resolution in mind, though..

Anyway, on a more horrifying note: this story, as of now, is considered "on pause", not abandoned. I have other chapters written, though they can't be posted yet. I apologize for this inconvenience, due to demanding classes and other social endeavors. I would like to assume Spring break would be manageable, though you readers may not have the patience. Possibly March, if not later.

Thank you all, and thanks for reading, Boo's story isn't over yet by no means!


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